Truth, Justice, and the Amazon Way
by Mark Question
Summary: How it began was innocent, a thought germinated from the black and white pages of a book discovered by happenstance. M rated. Superman/Wonder Woman.
1. Unknown Unknowns

**Disclaimer**: No money is made off this. Ownership and property rights belong to DC Comics, Warner Bros., and the character's respective creators.

**Author's Note**: Thanks to Ronnie K for the astute beta (as usual) and Arcadia81 for her invaluable feedback and prodding. If you haven't already, check out their stories; they've got some great stuff. Okay, no more plugs (promise!).

Truth, Justice, and the Amazon Way — Ch. 1: Unknown Unknowns

by Mark Question

* * *

How it began was innocent, a thought germinated from the black and white pages of a book discovered by happenstance.

It was in the dusty, little used back-room closet of his two bedroom apartment that Diana found the harmless looking paper binding resting unassumingly against a floorboard. Her first reaction after examining it had been surprise, a form of disbelief which soon swayed into a blush, leaving her swearing never again to volunteer to help Clark with his springtime cleaning while he was away.

The man obviously had more dirt in his closet than just lined the walls and floorboards.

The title of the book read: 'Role-Playing for Dummies'. It made no further attempt to explain itself, arrogantly speaking a code its readers would instantly understand. She flipped to a content index before lighting on a highlighted page that read "Domination". It had only taken Diana a brief glance for her to figure out it wasn't a biography on Stalin, or even a dissertation on the merits of competitive sports for the disinclined, but something else entirely.

The entire thing was 'something' more sinister; a secret of the prim and proper newspaperman not immediately obvious on his sleeve or the prose of his weekly Sunday Editorial.

So, naturally, she should've put the book down right away. Shoved it into the forgotten recesses of said closet to be, well – forgotten. At least by her. The subject or question of its existence never to be broached.

At least not by her.

And naturally, she did all of these things – wedging it back where she'd found it, resolving not to ask or wonder why he had it or where he'd bought it.

It wasn't her concern.

Shoving the thoughts from her mind much like she had the book into the closet, The Amazon went about the important business of everything else in the apartment that was not the book. When that was exhausted, she exchanged casual dress for something more serious – tiara, bracelets, and lasso; scanning to make sure she was alone before lifting off and into the air. Metropolis wasn't her city, but the residents were used to the presence of heroes, delighted with one as beloved as Wonder Woman above their heads.

Everyone knew Superman and Wonder Woman were friends.

For once the night was uneventful. As if the city's gallery of rogues sensed its sentinel's departure and dared not tempt him back. She managed to stop one robbery attempt at the Metropolis First National Bank, foil an attempted purse snatching on Fourth and Grand, and assist in the cleanup of a train derailment. All the while, not once thinking of the implications of a small book, back in the closet of a dusty closet, sandwiched between a copy of Robert Frost and a second edition of 'War and Peace'.

Returning to his apartment, she changed again, made herself tea, already having made herself at home. After the two had started to see each other romantically, it had become like a second one. Each had managed to leave a belonging at the others place of residence – like a ritualized mark of territory.

Finding herself making a second cup of brew, Diana then checked in with J'onn, just to look in on things – never mind that she didn't have watchtower duty until the day after the next, she liked to be thorough. It had nothing to do with a certain book, and any curiosity about it and why Clark had it.

Who knew, maybe it wasn't even his? Or maybe it was and it had been a gift.

Or maybe...

Eventually, she gave up the pretense and just went and found it. Scooping it up from the disused nook without further preamble.

It most certainly was her concern.

Flipping past what she'd already read, the Amazon lighted on a fresh page, not for the first time curious why the rest of his library of books were openly displayed, but Clark had this one hidden away. Its contents brought a flush to her cheeks, true, but they weren't that bad. Amazon's had a number of works on the erotic, there was no shame in it.

When Clark got back, he would find that in his absence Diana had taken care of his apartment for him, watering the plants, collecting his mail. His neighbors in the building – some just acquaintances, others friends – already knew he had a girlfriend, so no one had been suspicious of the tall, statuesque brunette who occasionally visited, queerly never needing to make use of the elevator or the stairs.

She was a leggy one, they thought. That, and nice. Serene.

Had he looked, Clark might've noticed a certain book, hidden away, wasn't so hidden anymore, and in fact, wasn't even there.

Had he looked.

––

What Diana couldn't know was that the little binding had been purchased by none other than Clark himself – interestingly enough, for none other than her.

Utilizing a judicious burst of super-speed, Clark had procured the book by zipping into a small, independently owned and operated adult bookstore on Metropolis' Lower West Side. The cashier, sorting inventory and not seeing anyone in the shop at the time, was none the wiser as to how $19.95 in crisp denominations miraculously appeared on his counter.

Put quite simply, Clark had a particular... fantasy, but he was too embarrassed to broach the subject directly to her. It was cowardly, but eventually he resolved an indirect nudge would be the best way to proceed; find out whether it was something she'd like, without actually querying the pickle of a question himself.

It seemed like a stroke of genius at the time.

Thus, the business trip. With him gone, Diana would occasionally stop by to maintain the upkeep of his apartment – something he did when she was likewise indisposed. Though a minor deception, his conscience was assuaged by the conviction that he would tell her, albeit at some later time. Two days before he was to leave, he'd snuck into his closet – which, couldn't really be termed sneaking; it was _his_ closet, after all – and left the unassuming book under a pile.

Batman wasn't the only one that could plan ahead.

Leaving nothing to chance, he'd bookmarked the section in the book that pertained to his little fantasy. The rest, he didn't care about. When she saw it, it would be a simple matter of knowing, and deciding whether she had an interest or not.

Simple.

When he'd returned from his business trip – which was genuine, a colleague at the Planet had left for the competing Globe, and Perry had asked him temporarily to take the workload, which included a bout of foreign correspondence work – he'd found the book missing from the closet. All was going according to plan.

At that point, it was just a waiting game.

What Clark, however, didn't know and couldn't have anticipated, was that, in his haste, he'd displaced his bookmarks and accidentally reinserted them into the wrong sections in the book. So when the Amazon had found it, conveniently perched where he'd left it, she'd found the marked portions, just as he'd hoped, but she'd had no way of knowing the mistake.

What he didn't know that he was about to find out was that what Diana didn't know could, in fact, wind up hurting him.

––

Two days passed, then three, then a week. There was nothing. And after a point, he forgot, going so far as to cast away the silly idea to begin with. Nothing had come of it.

Until one night, when something did.

In bed and alone together, Clark couldn't help but notice an abnormality, a ripple in what he knew and had cataloged as the current of Diana's behavior, the flow of her desire and wants.

She was...

... more.

Which didn't really explain it very well. Because she was already quite a lot, but more in that she demanded more, with her lips and her words and the gentle insanity that was the coaxing of her body. Always had she known what she wanted, but now, she vocalized it like never before. No longer seemingly content to just let their passion dictate their course, she became explicit, expectant. A mathematician confident in the veracity of her equation, not a pupil experimenting in cause and effect.

"You seem different." He grunted, sweating, because he was inside her, which was, for him, akin to an altered state. The only drug he'd ever need.

She smiled. It was dark – the night, not the smile, well, maybe that too – but he could still see her clearly. He always could. "Do I?" The Amazon asked.

He eyed the column of her throat. "You do."

Shifting, the Kryptonian moved, turning them over, but his efforts were intercepted, and she tried to pin him back underneath her. He chuckled, indulging her, but after a few minutes when he moved again to do the same and was met with equally lame results, he started to become frustrated.

An unholy light seemed to burn behind her eyes. Lit by the friction of his skin bared against hers.

Then she'd slapped him.

He sputtered. Totally caught off guard. "You just hit me." Apparently a side effect of being hit by an Amazon was stating the obvious.

"I know."

She did it again.

He gritted his teeth, never having seen this side of her. Frankly, he hadn't even known it existed, and he wasn't sure whether he liked it. He preferred it when it she was doing it to Solomon Grundy or Darkseid. Lovemaking was about intimacy and connection, pleasure and the reinforcement of everything and everywhere words failed. Not getting slapped in the face by a woman strong enough to wreck a tank.

"Stop that."

Diana bit her lip. Face a rainbow of pink. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right–"

He was interrupted by her slapping him again. Clark cursed.

"Hey–" her hand was in his hair, making what could vaguely be interpreted as a sensual crawl from the curve of his ear, slopping along to his scalp. Except it was anything but sensual the way she was doing it: palming his face. The Amazon only ended up pushing his hair into his face, pulling on it almost to the point of pain. He was... having trouble... breathing... "Whaph–" he tried to protest, words muffled by her hand dragging bizarrely – erotically, she thought – over his mouth. "Stoph... stoph thack!"

Suddenly her hand did. On top of him, her sexy gyrations that accompanied it ceased as well.

"Kal?"

"Yes?"

"You just... you appeared uncomfortable."

He clenched his jaw, deliberating on how best to respond. 'Please stop suffocating me' and 'gosh it would be swell if you didn't asphyxiate me' were mood killers.

"What was that?" he finally asked. Settling on a more neutral investigation.

"I thought we'd try something new. Did you like it?"

He hedged his bets. "You might say that."

"Really? I was afraid you wouldn't. I'm... glad."

She reached for his face again, to begin the lovers dance anew, but the man beneath her hesitated.. Diana frowned; 'Role-Playing for Dummies – Chapter 12: Domination' had said that pain and pleasure could be equal partners in foreplay. To make it fresh and new. Diana tried to take this to heart. What for her had been dubious uncertainty at first had just now blossomed into satisfaction at Clark's reaction and approval.

"Kal, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing. Maybe we could... try something else."

"But I thought you enjoyed it?"

"Oh, no, I... did." He argued quickly, "I do. I am. So much. _So_ much. It's just that... I'm tired. Why don't we just... snuggle instead?"

"Snuggle?"

"Right." He agreed. "I'd love that so much, to just snuggle. Nothing else."

"Is that really what you wish?" she asked, shifting above him.

_No!_

"Yes."

It was almost endearing, the way the warrior-Amazon looked like a deflated child denied her new favorite toy. A few minutes later Diana lay on his chest, head rested against his shoulder deep in sleep. For the remainder of the night, she lay curled softly into his side. But Clark lay wide awake.

Things were not turning out how he'd planned.

––

**Author's Note**: Clark's sure got himself in a situation. No one to blame but himself, really (and me!). Hope you guys enjoyed that. I'll post more chapters as soon as I can. Tell me what you think!


	2. Core

**Author's Note**: Well, I've pretty much taken forever to get this update out. Blame RL, writers block, and, unfortunately, an epic case of laziness. I apologize. Forgiveness? Here's chapter two. Thanks go to everyone that's read, Favorited, Author Alerted, and everything else so far. Big thanks to those that have reviewed. Your feedback has been great. Please keep it coming. Once again, thank Ron for the quick beta and Arcadia for her continued, good-natured reminders (and you too, Imfanci).

Be forewarned, mature-er content ahead.

* * *

"Diana, I'm telling you I'm fine! Let me go."

"Not without being sure. I'm sorry Kal."

"He's fine," J'onn Jones stated. Watching the imprisoned Kryptonian struggling against Wonder Woman's golden lasso. It held true. Unbreakable thread not even yielding for his great strength. It looked uncomfortable, and not for the first time the Last Martian wondered what it would be like to be a being that didn't have control of every single cell of his body. "You may let him go." he assured her.

"Are you sure? He could still be infected."

"Doubtful**.**" The green skinned alien dismissed the notion easily. Still, she seemed unconvinced, not letting The Man of Steel free.

"Really, Diana. I'm fine." Superman was saying...

"We need to be sure."

The Martian simply stared at her. "What do you suggest?"

"Can you sense anything?"

"Yes, I scanned him. It is him."

"Oh," Wonder Woman loosened her grip on the lasso a little, surprised at the revelation. "You mean all this time restraining him was unnecessary? Why didn't you tell me?"

"He did."

"What?"

Batman walked down the Javelin ramp, joining the three other heroes, Flash trailing behind. Tiny tears peppered the Dark Knight's costume, legacy of a battle hard fought and barely won. Even Wally, the fastest man alive looked tired, and for someone that could run to Africa and back in under a second without breaking a sweat, that was saying something.

He repeated, a cloud of grumpiness following him**,** "He did tell you."

Clark, still entangled, cleared his throat to gain their attention, growing more and more frustrated by the minute, but Diana ignored him. Bruce rolled his eyes. If he didn't know better, he would've thought something was going on between the two of them. Good thing he did know better. He generally operated under the principle that Clark had a terminal problem with seeing what was right in front of his face. This being a prime example.

"When?" Diana asked.

"Twenty minutes ago on the Javelin."

Diana reddened, and Bruce's eyes narrowed, his expression invisible beneath his mask. "Excuse me. I need to go file a report."

"If you've finished proving my identity, can you please let me go now?" Clark demanded.

"Of course. I'm sorry Superman. I was just trying to be careful."

The Kryptonian tried to reign in his exasperation. It wasn't hard, he couldn't usually stay mad her. Still, he was incredulous. He'd been trying to tell her the _exact _same thing J'onn and Bruce had just now throughout the entire trip! "You kneed me in the back." He pointed out.

"I thought you were trying to break free."

"Five times?"

"Yes."

The Kryptonian shook his head. Exasperated.

"Why?"

"You were acting oddly. I thought you might be an impostor. I had to restrain you for your own good." As she said this, she still had the lengths of her lasso looped through her fingers and around her hands, shifting them back and forth slowly as she watched him closely. Superman frowned, feeling a sudden shiver come over him. Suddenly feeling like they were in fact talking about something else. He felt like... prey.

And the feeling disturbed him.

––

Clark scanned the bank of monitors in front of him.

They, like the the station itself, were a combination of human tech, with repurposed Kryptonian and even left over Thanagarian incorporated. Efficiency was key – the best equipment in order to keep up with the best the League had to offer. Superman had the data load set to full. It actually helped him focus. That, and it was the perfect distraction all at the same time. Remembering the incident outside of the Javelin made him grimace.

A sudden blur of movement behind his chair announced the Flash's entrance, smoothie in tow. "Hey, Supes. Shifts up."

Superman nodded a sober greeting having heard him from far off, but didn't otherwise signal any move to get up.

Looking at his teammate, the picture presented a minor dilemma for the speedster. His first impression was that the Man of Steel looked troubled, which for the firm but otherwise easy going Kryptonian was unusual. He considered Superman a friend and his conscience told him friends helped.

On the other hand, he had a feeling if he were to leave Superman wouldn't even notice. He could probably skip out on the whole monitor duty thing altogether. A bag of microwavable popcorn waited for him at home, along with his couch, and a marathon of Mystery Science Theater he might not have to miss after all. The good life. He was still debating the merits of being a friend or Mystery Science Theater when Superman spoke.

"Have you ever regretted something?"

Wally was caught off guard by the question, so much so he stopped stirring the contents of his rapidly diminishing drink. Thinking about it, Clark was equally surprised he'd asked.

"Well, yeah..." the younger man responded, "I guess. What kind of regret though? You mean 'regret' like forgetting to put on a clean pair of underwear regret, or _regret regret_, like failing to save the world?"

Superman shook his head. He wasn't phased by the younger man. Wally was well intentioned most of the time and good at heart. "The second, Wally" he expounded, somewhat tiredly, "with a little bit of the first."

"You mean a medium level regret. Why didn't you just say so? Yeah, all the time, dude. But, you know me," he cocked his thumbs at himself, and made a slight 'swoosh' sound, "Fastest Man alive here. Nothing too major to correct." He took another sip. "Why do you ask?"

Clark told himself to shut up, but somehow found himself talking anyway. He wouldn't be too specific. "No reason, it's just I... have this friend, coworker really – more of an acquaintance – who's, uh, having some woman problems. I would give him advice, but it's nothing I have a single bit of experience with. The problem, not women, I mean."

Smooth.

But Flash hadn't noticed. Instead, he looked at him with wide eyes.

"Forget I asked––" Clark backpedaled.

"Yeah," Wally sputtered in interruption, seeming to come out of his split second daze. "Yeah, it's fine. It's just... I never thought I'd see the day. Big Blue asking me, the Speedster, for relationship advice. You came to the right guy though. I can read women like an open book, or, y'know, a very expensive magazine. I won't let you down."

Superman scratched the back of his head. "Uh, right. I'm not asking for myself though. It's for my friend."

"Got that part. K, go ahead. Shoot."

"Anyway, apparently, my friend told... a lie, you could call it. To test out whether his girlfriend would be alright with trying something different. And–"

"First mistake." Flash had interrupted, seeming to inhale his smoothie – loudly – the next moment, "Yeah, sorry. Go on."

Clark did. "But he told the wrong lie. I'm assuming. Not that there's such a thing as a good lie. Anyway, my friends a good guy, honest actually. Really upstanding in a sort of understated way. But he got this one wrong."

Flash interrupted again, this time with a snort, "You can say that again. No offense to your friend, but he sounds like a real grade-A moron." The statement was accompanied by air quotes.

Clark pursed his lips. "Believe me, it wasn't one of my better moments-" Flash perked an eyebrow, and Clark quickly amended the sentence. He had to clean that one up, and fast. "I mean, I'm sure it's not one of my _friend_'s better moments. Anyway, now that he told her the lie she's operating under it and it's kind of backfiring. I'm not sure what to advise him."

"Is she hot?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Only, like, everything. Listen well: in a critical mass situation you always have to evaluate the hotness factor. If she's say... a Buick, he might want to consider a return and refund. Now if she's a Corvette... " he whistled sweetly.

The Kryptonian tried not to grind his teeth. "He's not going to leave her, alright." He declared with finality. Then muttered: "She's not... a Buick. Whatever that means. I guess she's a Corvette."

"At least you're giving me something to work with. Honestly, it sounds like your friend should just tell the truth."

Clark sat back, surprised to hear that advice coming from Wally of all people. He reminded himself to give Wally credit for being more mature than he'd thought.

"You really think so?" He'd pretty much come to the same conclusion. It didn't hurt to hear affirmation, though.

Flash laughed, "Are you kidding? No!" He pushed off from the table, "The truth is a _horrible_ idea. I've been in this same situation myself. Well, a similar one, anyway. If she finds out your friend tried to trick her, she'll destroy him." He motioned with his hands something being crushed. Wally missed the grimace that flashed across Superman's face. "Absolutely wreck him. I've seen it before. His only option is to lie, lie, and lie some more."

Clark smiled tightly. "Right. Thanks." He muttered.

"Hey, don't look so down. It's not like we're talking about you, right?" the self proclaimed Fastest Man alive laughed. Superman didn't join him. In fact, now that Flash thought about it, he looked the opposite of amused. He trailed off... "Because that would... be bad... oh god. We're not, it's not...? I mean... we're not talking about you, right?"

Superman didn't say anything.

Wally's jaw dropped. "Really? Wow. I mean, I didn't... it's... I didn't think you had it in you. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing, you're just always so...

Clark sighed. This had been a disaster. "Perfect? I'm actually not."

"Yeah. You have no idea how much I admire you right now. I take back every joke I made about you to Batman."

"Wally, this isn't really helping-"

But the younger man kept going. "Who is it? Is she someone here? You can tell me. In the League? Oh. my. god. Is it Zatanna? I thought you didn't like magic– although that kind of magic I can't blame you for-

"Wally-"

"No, no– sorry."

"It's alright-"

He was interrupted.

"Dinah? It's her, isn't it? Puts a new meaning to the term 'screamer'–"

"She's with Ollie-"

"Duh! Of course not. She's with Green Arrow."

"Wally, I'm not-"

"Shayera? I mean, it couldn't be Wondy..."

"Wally!" Clark was starting to get a little angry. Not forgetting to put on clean underwear angry, either. He stopped suddenly. "Wait, what?"

"What what?" Flash asked.

The Kryptonian resisted the urge to force his fingers into his temple. "Why _couldn't _it be Diana?"

"Oh. Well, no offense, Supes, but she's batting for the opposing team. I'm, like, seventy-six percent sure."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, hungry for the soft flesh? Petting the friendly weasel? Lesbian. I've tried coming onto her, like, fifty times. No go. Definitely a lesbian."

Getting up from the chair, Superman took a deep breath. "Wally," he began; the younger man nodded, "Don't take this the wrong way, but your advice sucks."

Flash just shrugged. "No offense taken, Big Blue," he paused to put down his empty drink, "But, you knew who you were asking. If we're being serious, you're the guy coming to me for advice, I mean, what does _that_ say? Just a thought."

Silently, Clark conceded the point.

"You, uh, you want to take my shift? I mean, you looked troubled. Why don't you just, you know, sit back down and sort it out. I'll look the other way this time. No prob."

"I'm not taking your shift, Wally." He moved to leave, "By the way, you wouldn't have happened to see Wonder Woman on your way here?"

"Yeah, I think she just beamed up with John. Why?"

"No reason. Thanks Flash.

Plopping into the just vacated seat, Wally reached for his drink, only to remember it was empty. Still, as he stared into the oval depths of the straw a revelation hit him. One just as profound and mind blowing as the swirling stripes adorning said straw. He replayed Clark's last question, about Wonder Woman. What if... could it be?

"Nah."

He snapped out of it. That sort of thing couldn't happen. Like, ever. There had to be some sort of law that said a man couldn't be _that_ lucky.

––

Purple and red.

It repeated itself in intermittent, timed cycles. A rainbow brush bathing bathing two figures. Hence, purple and red. They were near the reactor core. Besides powering the entire Watchtower, it routed directly to the binary fusion cannon that had been taken control of and discharged by Lex Luthor.

A tool meant for good used for the wrong reasons was never a good thing.

Leaving the monitor room ten minutes before, he'd gone in search of Diana and found her.

"How did we end up here?" the question was hers, asked in the time it took to disengage from kissing him and catch her breath.

It was a good question.

The answer was a short one, immersed in the logic that had had him asking to speak to her privately to begin with. Him walking to her quarters would raise suspicions. Her doing the same to his would be unacceptably indiscrete. Someplace private emerged in the form of a service corridor. She'd craned her neck and kissed him, one small peck, and well, things had gotten a bit out of hand.

And so there they were. An Amazon and a Kryptonian. Purple and lilac dripping over them. Superman and Wonder Woman. Three quarters of a trinity in one confined place, two halves of a bad, unsound idea put together. In superhero terms, a reactor core was sort of unspectacular. The fantastical equivalent of a supply closet, so to speak.

He pulled back, "Wait... there's something I need to... to tell you."

"It can wait." she attested.

He almost gave in. Clark wasn't fighting this anymore, but he still needed to tell her the truth he'd decided. His conversation with Wally had sparked something. If he were honest, he'd admit that Diana had had something to do with it. He didn't mind continuing, even with the fatigue, slaps, and everything else. The last few weeks had been trying.

In the cold outside the Fortress had been new.

Two-hundred feet below sea level next to a coral reef had been... different – him inside her, hands bruising hard on her hips, seeing how long she could really hold her breath.

But just the last time, no sooner had he finished demolishing an escaped, insane Solomon Grundy, she had claimed emergency, sequestered him and truth be told, no good had come of it.

"We should... stop. This is crazy." It was true. Superman had her cornered, back pressed up against the metal wall, the reactor humming somewhere undisturbed behind them. "We're going to get caught. Or worse."

"Would it be such a bad idea if the others were to find out?" Wonder Woman asked.

"No." He paused, "But– Jesus!" She had just reached her hand down his pants. Well, tights.

"Diana." she corrected huskily.

Useful tools put to good use in mindful hands were never, ever, a bad thing.

With force, she felt him pin her against the bulkhead. He lost a little more control as he kissed her harder and she gripped him harder.

"You've been acting crazy lately, Diana," he breathed into the gentle swell of her neck, "Today. Other times." Her back arched when he kissed her throat. The armored bustier that kept her chest protected in battle was useless with him. She felt uncontrollably warm,sweaty. Her uniform too constricting when all the Themysciran wanted was to feel every inch of him pressed against every inch of her.

"Why do you think that is, Kal?"

It was practically a giveaway.

Yes, she knew – had figured out his little game. Almost from the start.

"Is there a way I'm supposed to behave?" she challenged. "Tell me."

The realization had given her every reason to be angry. It was funny, the ways anger had of expressing itself. What about being with her left him dissatisfied that he had to tell her with a book, rather than directly.

Honestly.

He appeared startled, she thought. And in the strobing warning-light of the reactor core, his grimace wasn't just her imagination. Deep, sea blue eyes shone through to hers. Lavender and magenta bringing the strong, masculine lines of his profile into a harshly handsome perfection. A long silence followed. But right when she thought he was about to answer her, he swooped in and captured her lips in rapturous distraction instead. Dragging her into a knee-weakeningly good kiss. It was almost good enough to make her forget some of her anger.

Almost.

Heat burned in her gut and even with the way the fabric of her suit rode uncomfortably low against the skin of her back, she ignored the wall behind her, stumbling back slightly. By instinct, she held onto him. One hand on his muscled shoulder, the other... well, elsewhere. Diana, aware she hadn't let go, felt no shame.

His hand on her wrist surprised her when she moved to disengage. Kal was gentle – he always was, not that her body required it – but firm. Insistently holding her wrist, keeping her slender fingers against him. The shudder that coursed through her was preceded only by the one that she felt run through him.

"Keep going."

Hera, the man was going to be the end of her.

Even as he spoke the words into her hair, he moved to kiss her, lips waging a solicitous campaign against her own. Tongue executing a winning war against her mouth. There was something dirty about it. She felt out of sync. Slightly ahead of herself and indefinably behind. Every time he pulled back to give her air, she came up out of breath. Lost.

He bit her bottom lip, pulling it slightly, ministrations leaving her mouth to fixate affection on her throat, hoist her further up against the wall and her bustier closer to his face, finding her breasts. Hera help her, her kiss-swollen lips parted and she keened softly. Not too far gone to notice the obvious, it didn't escape her that every time she made a sound – gasped, whimpered; made a move, fidgeted – he seemed to swell. Giving an overeager jerk, she started on him, began to stroke him. Heated, fog-filled brain taking a distinctly feminine pride in the pinched grunts, the deep, baritone pants he gave and she took.

She had him in the palm of her hand– literally. He groaned. Ground his hips into her hands.

It made her careless. It made her hot and it made her burn. She had a desire to undo him, to unravel him so he could come back together for her to watch. So it was no surprise that when his breathing became irregular, she slowed her strokes, when he started to pant, hips thrusting her into the wall, Diana shifted one hand lower, the thumb of the other thumbing – no pun intended – his head.

Her reward was a rush of endorphins flooding her, making her lightheaded. A thousand-million chemical bodies with little capes rushing through her veins. Creating this effect in her. She was about to...

"Hera..." she breathed. She felt him grow slightly, and knew that he was close as well.

"Oh god..."

They said it together.

Superman tensed, alarm showing on his features, "No... really! The core!"

"What?"

"The _core_! If... if I go off and something... hits the core...!" Her hand stilled, but even that, even the simple warm, caressing existence of the Amazon's hands was enough. Kal, being Kryptonian and powered by a yellow sun, well, it wasn't just that _some _of his functions were super, it was that they _all _were. If he went off...

... Near the core.

After a split second of passion clouded stupefaction, her eyes widened in comprehension. Diana gasped.

Kal jerked.

There was only one option. Whether it was selflessness, heroism, or the base part of her that sought release, Diana reacted in a heartbeat, hand pushing aside the line of star spangled fabric, guiding his length into her. Athletic legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

He gave a strangled cry, halfway between a gasp and a growl, and thrust _deep_ before going still, his warm seed filling her. His release was a trigger to Diana's own. From somewhere far off, a crash sounded and the room seemed to shake. The Amazon was only dimly aware of her head having made contact with the wall. There was pain, yes, but mixed with the pleasure he was giving her, the recklessness of the moment and, yes, even the risk of discovery. There was his scent and the crushingly hard, almost suffocating weight of all of him pressed against all over her. She came – hard. Stars formed behind her eyes, her heels dug into the muscles of his rear. She blinked, body subject to an excruciatingly potent orgasm.

For his part he seemed no less effected. He was a gasping, sweaty mess, blue eyes dilated and sweeping over her face like a searchlight in troubled tight, her core was silken and wet and constrictingly tight. Superman dropped to his knees, a limp Wonder Woman in his lap.

It was true, saving lives had never felt so good.

But besides that, there was a more pressing concern.

"How long?"

She caught her breath. "Almost the beginning."

"And you didn't tell me? Was that what this was all–"

"I could say the same of you, Kal." Diana interrupted, hand brushing damp hair out of her face. He was still inside her, it was... distracting. "Next time tell me."

"I'm still sorry about the first time."

"As you should be." He would find no forgiveness from her.

He moved to rise, gently disentangling. But before he could respond, he was forestalled.

*_Superman_* A voice broadcasted into his mind. It was instantly recognizable as J'onn Jonzz, the Martian Manhunter. *_Is everything all right? I detected severe shocks against the hull originating at your location up until a moment ago._*

Superman grimaced.

"Right, J'onn. I just, yeah, I just fixed the problem."

*_What was the problem? My equipment isn't registering any failure._*

"There was... something misaligned, I had to... cool the... core... with my hands."

There was a pause, followed by a gentle shifting that felt like Martian surprise on the other end of the telepathic connection. Not wanting him in his head then, of all times, Clark quickly activated his communicator.

"Wonder Woman is with you?" the Manhunter's voice came through.

"I... err–"

"Yes I am, J'onn," the Amazon spoke up for the first time, "I was... assisting Superman."

"I see. Do the two of you require my assistance?"

"No!" the answer had come almost a little too quickly, a little too harshly. She pointedly ignored the warning look Clark sent her. "Thank you. We'll write a report."

It seemed to satisfy or at least mollify the Martian, because after a moment and following a "I very much look forward reading it." he ended the communication.

Alone again, both heroes took the moment to recompose themselves. He pulled up his pants and she adjusted her uniform. In the midst of their... rendezvous, her lasso had slipped from her waist. Without a word, Superman bent and handed it to her. She accepted it in much the same manner, only reaching up to brush his characteristic curl back into existence at the last possible second as he moved to pass her. Together, the two heroes moved back the way they had come. Albeit with a little less dignity than when they had arrived.

Diana was the first to break the silence, and she asked seriously. "Do you think he suspects?"

"That depends: that we were fooling around or that we almost blew up the station while we were fooling around?"

The Amazon for the first time showed regret. "Hera, don't remind me."

He wouldn't. But he would remember. Her against the wall, him pressed against her, purple and red streaming over them both – honestly, Clark didn't think he was likely to forget that anytime soon. Outwardly, he only nodded, sobering. They stepped out of the reactor room, and soon were in a service elevator.

"Seriously," Clark muttered incredulously, almost to himself. "All this time?"

"Yes. All this time."

"I'm sorry," he said after a while, "I should've been direct. I suppose this makes us even."

She didn't respond.

"Diana?"

The doors opened to the transporter room, the presence of others about to intrude. She turned her head to look up at him at the last second, and he couldn't quite identify her expression.

"No, Kal." she said simply, "Not yet."

––

**Author's Note**: It's looking right about now like Clark has everyone reason to hate me. I'm not being very kind, am I? *laughs evilly* Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed. Let me know what you think. Chapter three is coming soon and will be the last.


	3. Not Your Gods

AN: Again, sorry for the delay.

Warnings for kinkiness.

––

Chapter 3: Not Your Gods

––

It might be surprising to know that she didn't particularly enjoy using her lasso.

It had never been more than a means to an end for the Amazon. A length of twine woven and blessed by one of her gods, verily, but still just a length of twine, enchanted or no. God or no. It was a tool. It could be a weapon.

Using it was not a pastime of hers, nor had it ever been, nor did she think it would ever come to be. But convincing others of that?

Well, that was an entirely different affair.

A matter of misperception, it went hand-in-hand with every other false impression that had ever belonged to her in Patriarch's World. Most had been weeded out. Time, goods deeds and a good publicist her best assets. Yet still too many women seemed to think the lasso represented some sort of allegory on reverse female dominance. For example, too many men mistakenly seemed intent to believe the lasso meant more than just a lasso.

Or so they wished.

Sometimes a tool was just a tool.

Thus, Diana tried not to feel too much the hypocrite because, honestly – and she tried to be honest, self deception never being an ally – she had to admit that she was having a good time. It had to be said. There just wasn't any tactful, polite, or reasonably reasonable way to go about it without being blunt, and maybe a little offensive.

Tying him up was fun.

They said the truth set you free, but that was only half right, Diana thought. The truth could also be very... constricting.

There were no purple lights and reactor core, this time.

Not a landing ramp, or the laughable excuse of a mind altering pathogen in sight.

There was just them.

Just her bed, her lasso, and him. Three things good. Three things she touched, kept close to her person, or were allowed to touch her.

Kal looked beautiful tied down, Diana mused. Tied down with her lasso, tethered to her bed as if true to the title of Amazon she'd liberated him from an oasis of men, a warrior-woman happened across a lost colony of Davids to claim what was hers. It was pure hedonistic theater, Diana knew, even as a wave of possessive lust overtook her. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. She hazarded a eyeful of his bare chest, muscle spread out behind her under a valley of smooth skin made for her eyes to circumnavigate; bit her lip.

Then again, maybe it _was_ a good idea.

She stopped moving. "Are you regretting things?" She asked carefully.

To Clark, it was a silly question. What was he to regret, when he had agreed? When he'd watch her execute her plan as she'd secured him to her bed? No. He wasn't regretting things. He told her as much.

"Wise." Her approval was generous, and she started to move again.

"How did we end here?" Clark kept his hands – wrists in the process of being bound – still. She had already finished with his ankles.

Their eyes locked for a moment before she leaned over to reach for something past his head. "You trust me." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him watching her.

"You already know that." It was true.

"You're in love with me."

He flicked his wrists– immobile. "Which you're taking advantage of."

"You're making amends."

On that, he chose to withhold comment.

"Have you done this before?"

Diana considered it a legitimate question deserving a legitimate answer. "I haven't." she answered with honesty, "Have you?"

"Tied a half-naked man to a bed?" Kal turned the question around, "No. Not that the idea of you tying me up and having your way with, well–"

"Kal," she interrupted him.

Sky-blue eyes focused on her. "What?"

She bent, kissing him. He tasted like ambrosia, she thought. Every good wine and then some. When she pulled back, her lips appeared close to his ear, "You're rambling." Her breath was faint, hair tickling his jaw like scratches of night.

Hand reaching for something to her right, in one fluid movement it was off the bedside table, and behind her back. Her eyes watched his follow the movement. She wore a loose black chemise nightgown, the sleek undergarment doing pathetically little to hide the smooth olive skin underneath, let alone curb her generous proportions.

"Close your eyes," she ordered.

He obeyed– somewhat reluctantly. Very reluctantly.

The bed shifted as Diana leaned over him, lifting his head more gently than she really needed. When she was finished, she saw his brows rise in response.

He was blindfolded. Clark tried but, much to his surprise, couldn't see through it.

"Lead? Is this really necessary?"

"Not lead; magic. And yes, this is absolutely necessary."

She could sense his unease grow. "I hate ma–"

"I know."

Diana moved onto him, fully straddling his waist. Errant strands of hair tickled over his face as she bent over him, her hands framing either side of his jaw.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

The question ignored the fact that bound and pounced upon as he was, the answer meant very little either way — or it meant everything.

"You know I do."

She bit her lip, and after the smile had melted enough for her to use her lips for a reply, she issued him the only advice he would receive: "Good. Remember that. The bed's frame is titanium. Relax, conserve your energy for me, not the bed."

Stretched out before her in all his glory, for all the world – or just her – to see, Kal might've presented a dilemma. Normally well kept dark hair just a little mussed– though the charming curl persisted – thick pectorals, corded biceps resting easily, the golden length of her lasso looping at the wrists, her eyes traveled lower, to the tempt-ably sculpted abs, and lower still...

She was a warrior. No true Amazon entered combat unprepared. And that's what this was– combat. Kal's doing, not hers. An underhanded and premeditated scheme conjured up by his facilities for tactics. They were inadequate when it came to her. She wondered whether she would trust _him _like this, were their roles reversed. She shook the thought from her mind for now. There were more pressing matters to tend to.

His only warning was fingers on his hips, curving underneath the waist of his boxers and then _'sritch_'.

A rush of cool air hit his exposed genitals like a petrified yak on Mt. Everest. Thankfully, he was a bit more robust than that. She'd ripped the undergarment from him. He tensed, semi-hard and Diana waisted no time in taking him in hand. She kissed his thigh. She dragged her hair over him. She breathed her breath on him. Licked a lascivious line at the head of his length that had his hips flexing and him biting down curses. It was a slow, sensuous torture which she engaged in for several minutes before finally encasing him in the warm wetness that was her glorious mouth.

Biceps flaring, the bed rattled as he inhaled– but it held.

When she released him, it was to brush her hair out of her face, his length a glistening swell of arousal that she lavished with the attention of her tongue before finally accepting him back into her mouth. The Amazon was aware that, blinded as he was, the visual of her methodology was lost on him, so she compensated with her voice.

She was careful to be noisy. The gentle sucking at his tip as she 'mmm-hmm'd' around him became a hum. Mouth opening as the Amazon took him in slowly, and then hollowing as she ascended, releasing the engorged head with a decidedly vulgar 'pop'.

Clark, try as he might, rapidly lost composure. He was in another world. It's only components suction and heat and wetness. There was no better description.

He was groaning – sometimes moaning – her name. Strained, impotent requests for 'more' and 'like that', were uniformly ignored. Having lost the ability to maintain his control, he bristled at the sound of her voice.

"Are you contrite?"

"YES!"

Kisses were ran up his length, nose brushing the underside of him. Slick with her spit, she stroked him, middle finger massaging his slit while the others moulded around him in a kind of glove. She stopped long enough to tease him with empty, whispery half-puffs of air.

"Say it."

He was shaking. "Yes! Ugh-yes, I'm sorry."

Satisfied, she welcomed him back into her mouth, a loud moan of relief escaping him. He was close, she could tell. Just a little more. Half way down she stopped; released him. A sweat covered Clark groaned in misery.

"What? Where– why did you stop? No... gods, keep going, Di."

"What are you sorry for?"

He actually had to think. He knew the answer to this. It was why they were there. It was related to a book. Clark lifted his head off of the bed several times, trying to clear it. His chest was heaving.

"I don't know!"

"Hm."

And he was left bereft – panting and groaning, but still bereft.

Standing and backing away from him, she took a moment to savor his predicament.

Slowly, she stepped up the length of his body, tall legs powerful and toned, coming to a stop at the head of the bed. Movement that Clark could hear but couldn't see heralded his only warning as something dark and lace eased over the curve of her hips, shimmying down her thighs to the bed. He could hear her movements; the quiet of sheer cloth being shed, sliding to the floor.

Only, by virtue of the fact that she had moved to stand directly above him, he blocked the bed, catching them instead. Heavy with her wetness they carried her scent. Clark couldn't help but inhale.

Which was ironic, because she held her own breath. She was like a domino about to topple. She controlled what happened next, but he had no idea that in how he reacted, he effected how she reacted.

Without really thinking about it, she paused to bring one foot to his face. Slowly, tortuously, pushed the undergarment against it, brushed it over his nose, then his lips. Her breath exited her in a satisfied 'ah', lips parted a hair's breadth as she eyed the spectacle appreciatively.

Athena be praised.

When she lowered herself onto his face, hedging momentarily before teasing his lips with hers, just out of reach, it was as much an act of the unsteady thread in her legs as it was a conscious act of will. No sooner had she lowered herself, then she was up again, raising her hips just out of his reach.

When she could again speak like an adult, the Amazon caught her breath.

"How long can you hold your breath, Kal?" she inquired.

He had regained some composure since her earlier teasing, but not much. For him, denial had become frustration, which had transmuted into irritation before eventually being submerged by more temptation. He wanted to rip off his binds and... "I don't know..." he breathed, head rising and falling back against the bed, "several hours... why?"

As if he didn't already know, Diana thought.

"Idle curiosity."

"I think you know most of my secrets, Diana."

And she probably did.

"Kal?"

"Yes?"

A hand ran through his splay of black hair, forefinger and thumb gliding slowly to his cheek.

"Might I suggest you inhale?"

A willingness to go above and beyond characterized Superman, and in the bedroom, there, with her, had never represented an exception. Long, luxurious strokes of his tongue took her above. Talented, prophetic flicks on the undersized, at her sweet spot at first she hadn't even realized she'd had but that he'd long ago memorized, took her beyond. Sometimes Diana wondered if the heat vision and unconquerable endurance were red herrings. That his true super power was his ability to get her to beg him in husky utterances unbefitting an Amazon. To coax her into ebullient multiples of 'yes, yes, yes'.

Deciding he deserved encouragement - a reward, she leaned back slightly, still facing forward but arching and balancing backwards with one hand on the bed for support, just beside his hips. Her other hand journeyed south, gripping his length, again.

She felt as well as heard him grunt, powerful hips thrusting into her palm. She shushed him with a pinch above his knee and a squeeze of strong Amazon thighs.

Not relinquishing her hand's hold, she proceeded to initiate a slow, vertical ceremony up the length of him.

He was formidable. She was tall and lithe, proportionately so. Her long fingers not quite reaching round the whole of him. As an afterthought she was careful to keep her thumb in play at the head of his penis. Fingers covering it on each upstroke. A slow, warm leakage lubricated her hand. She did not want him to go off– not yet. The results of his supercharged physiology could be... comically inconvenient.

Thrust lighter now, Diana felt him pump into her hand, trying to ease the ache no doubt rekindling in his loins. She could relate. Her eyes slipped closed in ecstasy. Hera, she was close. She let herself fall further into a sort of trance, the autopilot of her hand skillfully working up and down the length of his hard, thick shaft. Taking her time as she eased her thighs rhythmically over him. His tongue and mouth working out all her spots.

Phantom hands situated themselves on her hips, and her eyes shot open.

She could've sworn...! But when she stopped to look his hands were still bound, still affixed to the headboard. She blinked and felt her head swim. Lusty, carnal thoughts of his eyes raking over her possessively overtaking her. She was caught up. That was it. Were he not bound his large hands would be reaching up, groping her breast, manipulating her in rhythmic, timed intervals to match his mouth.

Fleetingly, she regretted having blindfolded him.

A particularly violent flick of his tongue had her faltering, blue eyes pinched shut and a rebellious shudder shaking her body. Her thighs quivered, liquid heat burning a path from her core. Releasing him, she leaned against the headboard.

Again she felt phantom hands on her – possessive in kind. Strong yet gentle. She didn't fight the fantasy. It was only when she opened her eyes that she found that it was no such thing. Kal – a blindfold-less Kal – watched her. His hands were free, and somehow - she couldn't fathom how - the blindfold was gone. Shock and the unceasing pressure of his mouth pushed her over the edge and she clutched at the headboard with a cry.

"Hera..." she breathed, not sure how long she drifted in the pleasure of it.

"No."

"What-"

She felt his breath against her neck.

How...?

"Kal." the Amazon heard him correct.

She felt him moving, and she willed her limbs and mind to wake up, match him, but she was submerged in the aftereffects of a still wonderful bliss. Her body one large, flushed, blush. "Not your 'gods'."

Diana found herself shivering.

She felt his hand on hers, peeling them off the dented headboard, passion-roughened as he guided it to his still hard, very much still burdened erection. He/she gripped it, and Diana opened her eyes, face forward to find that he was behind her.

Silk brushed her side, and she watched, transfixed, as she allowed her lasso - her very own - to now be brandished against her. The tables changing as he made short work of securing her wrists to the headboard, level with her head. Trust, as they like to say, is a two-way street.

"Not 'Hera'," he continued huskily. And she blushed, unfamiliar self-consciousness making her shiver. No, not quite. Clark had never bothered to wear a mask. Had never bothered in his superhero-ing to alter his voice to allay suspicion of his identity, but if he had, if he did, she imagined this is what it would sound like. "Me." She heard him finish.

She shivered again. Absolutely positive he noticed it this time.

"Kal-" she gasped out, reparations fast in coming. He kissed her - hard, her head turned, his hand in her hair, face buried into her neck, and then he pushed inside. Already prepared for him, there was no reason to hesitate. She could take him now. They both knew it.

But Gods...

She cried out on the very first thrust. Some kind of record for frailty, her endurance better than that by at least half. But it only built, it did not lessen.

His pace.

Her pleasure.

When he eventually slowed, Diana was sure it was a pugilists torture, to test her with the exactness of his control. Her fingers grasped at the railing of the bed. It made for fumbling, ecstasy impaired attempts. A bullet and her bracelets the furthest thing she was capable of at that moment.

When he hastened, it was to carry her to her completion. Her first. Her second. Her fifth. Oh God. Oh Kal. She gripped the headboard. Titanium. Found new spots to dent. Eventually, she realized she was speaking in the midst of her ecstasy - random utterances in half a dozen languages with one refrain. Years worth of naturalization falling away and her accent thickening. Sweat-slicked body long and prostrated, coiled and pressed against the bed frame. One-two-three, six-seven-eight. White-knuckled and Kal giving her everything good.

"Diana."

"Diana."

They were still on the bed, and he was untying her. An almost gently embarrassed air about him. His hair was ruffled, looking thoroughly bed-shaken. She felt him scoop her up easily. A sometimes alien feeling, she was a lot of woman. Then again, he was a lot of man. She felt him kiss her, softly. She didn't fight the urge to curl against him. Was it over? she wondered.

He spoke to her with a smile in his voice. "Sorry if I got a bit carried away." The words were there, slightly deprecating even. But she knew he wasn't sorry at all. Damp, dark tendrils clung to her face and he gently brushed them free.

"That was... you were incredible." It was an interchangeable statement, but it had come from him.

"So were you. More than so. How did you..." she stumbled, warriors did not blush, "get free?" she finished.

"Magic."

He looked particularly proud of himself. Not that he didn't have every reason to be. There would have to be a rematch. Amazons didn't take kindly to being bound.

"Don't get big-headed. What worth will you be to me then?"

"Sure," there was a glint in his eye, "because we wouldn't want me to get big-headed**.**"

He was laughing at her, in that maddening way he had of being intractably humble – or not so humble in this case. "Oh, very clever, Kal." She slapped his chest, still nestled against his larger form.

They fell into a comfortable silence. It was she who eventually broke it. "In the book, which sections did you highlight?"

Clark, chin resting atop her head and fingers gliding softly over the bronzed expanse of her back, hesitated. Having read the book, she had to have already known. Her asking him didn't make sense, unless... could he have marked the wrong sections? It was possible. "Why, what did you see?"

"'Finding pleasure in the midst of an STD," the Amazon recited – he grimaced, "Another was," she paused meaningfully, "'Hers: for the man who wants to be dominated.'" the Kryptonian started to cough. "The former gave me the idea. I guessed that some were wrong and some were intentional. And for the record, you look very fitting in gold."

He sighed, chagrined, "I can honestly say this hasn't been one of my better plans, although I can't fault the ending– most of it." He amended, remembering the lasso. "Since we're in the spirit of sharing I might as well ask what 'Το Fuck εγώ στα Hades εσείς χρηματοδότησε καλά το γιο μιας αίγας herder' means?"

His Greek was suspiciously good.

Her head shot up from his chest. "Kal!" she was blushing. "Where did you hear that?"

But there was no taunting follow-up. He just lie back, watching her with a naked, knowing curiosity to match the state of his undress. For once, Clark paid attention with undisguised shrewdness.

"Did you know you revert to Greek sometimes when we're making love?" Clark chuckled. He wasn't sure whether he qualify what they'd just done as 'making love', but it was something. "It's really quite endearing."

"Are you saying...? Impossible. I wouldn't say that."

"You're," he kissed her throat,"also" he leaned closer to trail the damp hollow between her breasts, "adorable when," the front of her knee– the leg it attached to wiggled, "you're embarrassed."

Before she could stop him, he tickled her calf – at superspeed – and after first attempting to wriggle out from underneath his grasp and letting out an un-Amazonly squeal in the process, she began to falter. Unable to flee, retaliatory maneuvers followed whereby she issued kicks and threats of bodily harm. First for the super-fingers, and on principle, for the indignity of the noise. More amused by the second he persisted. His fingers were ubiquitous feather-light pinpricks forcing laughter from her. In a last ditch effort, she attempted a leg-hold, wrapping her legs around the back of his and dragging him under the sheets.

It had felled many an enemy.

Thinking herself victorious, she gasped when he emerged, lifting them above the bed. She could have floated herself rather than hold on to him but, flustered, she was in no mood to conjure the necessary concentration.

"I win." he said simply, before seeming to think better of something. "I should have thought of this before. Over the bed rather than on it."

She had to admit, he had a point.

There wasn't much talking after that.

––

"Clark?"

The apartment was still, the kind of undisturbed silence of dripping faucets and phantom creaking that marked true desertion.

"Sweetie?"

Bag and keys in hand, Martha Kent locked the door behind her, disappointment passing in her wake as she realized that her son wasn't there and that she was alone. A clutch of butterscotch cookies were held in one hand and a bag with Clark Kent's favorite apple pie in the other. She had meant to call ahead, but the train ride into Metropolis had taken less time than usual.

"Oh silly me!" She fretted.

She set the pastries in his refrigerator and then went to the task of fetching a peace of paper with which to write him a note. Martha noticed the fact his apartment seemed to have more of a womanly touch since the last time she'd visited. Moving to a side table, she switched on the lamp and sat on his sofa, only to trip on something wedged between the coffee-table and couch. It was a television remote. She tried to pull it out. It wouldn't budge. She pulled harder. Finally, it came lose. She checked the floor to make sure she hadn't dislodged anything else. Really, she thought she'd taught Clark to be tidier than that. He was always the cleanest little boy.

Finished, she set her note on the table.

_Dear Clark,_

_I stopped by but you were away. I left some butterscotch cookies on the kitchen counter and some apple pies in the fridge. I will be in the city for the weekend visiting some friends. You remember Henry and Lizzy? Oh, look at me, rambling on like an old woman. I'll be by tomorrow._

_Love, Martha_

_P.S. I'll bring food with me tomorrow. Your fridge is woefully understocked. You know with your appetite you can go through that in a day. I hope you're eating enough, Clark._

Finished, she moved to put the note on the coffee-table.

And paused.

"Oh, what's this?"

The thickest, most colorful book lay seated on the table. It looked well-worn. It hadn't been there before, but when she'd needed the paper to write the note, and walked to the couch to leave the note, and tripped over the television remote wedged dangerously against the floor, she must have disturbed some papers upon jostling said thing free.

Putting back on her reading glasses which she'd pocketed, she read the title of the book:

'Role-Playing for Dumbies.'

My, how they invented the queerest names for books nowadays.

Martha opened it.

––

Many miles away in Boston, the Amazon Wonder found herself waking in the middle of the night. The reason was not her own but due to her lover who was already up, his sudden movement and the loss of warmth having woken her. He lie partially upright, elbows hefting himself up off the bed. She touched him gently.

"Is there trouble?"

"No," he squinted in concentration, "I'm not sure," he admitted, "I thought... I heard a scream."

She looked at the clock. It was several hours till sunrise. She moved to turn on the bedside light, but his hand stopped her.

"Forget it. I don't hear it anymore. I'm pretty sure it was just a dream."

"Are you sure?"

He pulled her back to him, strong arms enclosing around her. "No nightmares here. Everything else can wait."

**FIN**

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For anyone wondering, I didn't make that Greek up. What does it mean? Look it up, people! ;-) Thanks to everyone who read, Favorited and Story Alerted this! Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed: Ratdogtwo, John777, Donny, Nightwing, Shiro-wolfman, Hellacre, EroSlackerMicha, Amber, Fostersb, and Imfanci. A few people asked what Clark meant to mark in the book. To be honest, I never really thought about it. Hopefully this answered that– sort of. And of course, thanks again to Ronnie K for the _great_ beta(s) and Arcadia for being a patient sounding board. Anyway, feedback is mana from Heaven! Let me know what you think.


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